We all have a memory of when we first drew the “Cool S”. It’s known by many names, but that’s the one Wikipedia uses, and thus it is the one I will use. Fourteen lines: three straight down in two rows, and then eight diagonals that make this infinitely tessellating shape. Wisdom passed down from older siblings and kids on the playground; knowledge which has no discernible beginning or end. Where did it come from? How are we still engaging with this inherited knowledge today?
The new Ames Yavuz gallery, nestled in a little commercial street in Surry Hills and walking distance from central station, is shaped like a “Cool S”. Perhaps that’s a simplistic way to describe the space. Freshly painted white walls create a long corridor which is both boxed-in yet wide and exploratory, with walls coated in all shapes and sizes of technology like projectors, old IPhones, and TVs. Ames Yavuz’s inaugural presentation of MEMORY/MYTH, entirely composed of 26 AV artworks running on a set schedule, is wrapped up in ideas of what it means to dissect and archive knowledge which is passed down to us through intangible, impermanent ways.
These international artworks explore concepts of Indigeneity, colonialism, and attempts to try and rediscover or reform culture on the other side of atrocity. The exhibition is an umbrella: it doesn’t attempt to tie together these cross-cultural experiences of what it means to exist under a still-reigning colonial system. Rather, the works recognise that there are commonalities that shed light on these experiences, that these systems are still alive today, burned into our countries and our ways of life.
Whilst the immersive visuals of the space are captivating, I was intrigued by one of the only purely audio pieces. Jayda Wilson’s Blood Reign II reshapes Indigenous language which has been lost across history to bridge their past across a chasm of colonialism. Staring at a blank phone with headphones on, you can hear Wilson’s great-grandmother Neva recounting her family history in your right ear, while excerpts are repeated in your left in the artist’s mother tongue, Wangga. Wilson speaks to “a contradiction as to what we as Aboriginal people could expect, and what others took for granted”.
The work is a “(re)discovery” in the words of the artist, both preserving and unearthing a culture which was historically developed orally. It’s a poignant reminder that something as simple as a phone is an incredibly powerful tool in connecting people to rich personal histories.
Curator Ananya Mukhopadhyay aims to allow people to “re-engage with the space” over and over, inviting rediscovery through an exhibition which reveals different layers at any moment of the day. I’m planning on going back soon, if only to try and catch Chilean artist Valentina Soto’s Squares of Tropic Summer. Soto’s work maps the line between “natural” and “exotic” as man-made terms by tracking the postal journey of a terrarium through the Covid-19 Pandemic, and as a fellow Chilean it’s thrilling to see such a wide array of cultures and artists being displayed at the gallery.
I spoke briefly with Glen Ames, of the titular Ames, who described the space as “somewhere to get a coffee and stay for a while”, and perhaps I’ll do just that. It would be a glorious way to spend an afternoon.
The adage of the internet is that everything exists in a permanent and intangible state: a photo can live forever or disappear into the aether. This space is not like a typical gallery with static works, with hung paintings and sculptures and placards which purport to know exactly what something is and what it meant to the people who made or saw it. Surrounded by footage, you get a sense in the gallery that this state of permanent impermanence rings true. Bound up in the fear of missing a screening, a single clip happening parallel to another projection, or a sound as you take off your headphones, is this little gem of truth that for a moment you got to experience the world through someone else’s eyes, and that is all yours.
